In nameless time
by viadiva9
Summary: The Doctor is tired. Really tired. So tired that he gets into the TARDIS right in the middle of a fight and flies away. He allows the ship to choose the place randomly, and the choice is rather surprising. WARNINGS: Mary Sue, possible AU, non-native English speaker
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

He was really tired.

The TARDIS was humming something, and he found himself simply walking to his ship right in the middle of the battle. There was no one to stop him, he was alone yet again, and the sudden realisation flashed in his mind: he doesn't really have to do this. He doesn't have to fight without breaks, without companions, without hope. He can actually fly somewhere and somewhen to come back to fight a few seconds later. He's Time Lord after all, the last one, rest assured, but still a Time Lord nevertheless, the time itself was but an instrument in his hands.

So he stood inside his beloved ship, the stolen property that has become his own throughout the time, the ship that was more, so much more than just a ship. If anyone or anything is capable of outliving him, he thought, it's her, the TARDIS. She's always there for him, and this is it.

He has never turned off her translation function, and he decided to do that just for fun. He has never pressed the button for random transportation, and he decided to do that out of sheer curiosity.

The ship flew slow, and he sat in a chair, trying to relax. The fight wasn't easy, and still he could wipe out yet another riotous species from the face of the universe, and no one was there to stop him, to ask him to compromise. He thought of the times when there was someone.

He thought of Rose Tyler, stuck in the parallel universe with a human clone of one of his previous regenerations. Happy Rose, looking in the eyes of her beloved Doctor, who suddenly could understand and act on her feelings instead of standing in awkward silence. As always, he wasn't thinking about himself at all, looking at them as they walked away together. How can he throw out all this love he had for her?

He thought of River Song, unsure of her fate.

He could end up thinking about them all, but the TARDIS stopped flying. He never cared looking at the coordinates, jumping out into the dark street.

A young woman was sitting on a bench, staring in her mobile phone. Her facial expression was nothing close to happy, she looked so lost and lonely - he felt pulled to her.

He couldn't help noticing that seemed to have missed the appearance of the TARDIS. She was wearing headphones and reading a book from her mobile phone, and she seemed completely alien to the world.

"Excuse me," he said loudly and she raised her head, taking her headphones off, "this would sound like a stupid question, but where am I?"

She looked at him perplexed, but then she swallowed and said, "You're in Omsk, Russia. Would you want to know more precise address?"

Russia. Brilliant, from all the places in the universe, TARDIS picked one of the biggest countries that were on Earth throughout the history, and not its capital, but just a city somewhere in Siberia.

"And when am I?" he asked carelessly.

She blinked and took her glasses off for a moment.

"It's summer of 2015," she told him finally, having wiped the glasses with her own shirt.

"How come you know English?" he continued the conversation, sitting beside her.

She smiled, but haven't answered. She finally noticed TARDIS, and went to the ship, her headphones hanging on her neck, the phone still in her hand.

"What is that?" she asked, turning to him for a moment.

"This is my spaceship," he answered, and went to her. "Would you want to take a look at it?"

She hesitated for a moment and then said, "No."

Alright, he thought, now this is something new.

"I won't insist, but why not?" he asked, looking closely at her face.

She shrugged and walked back to the bench. She sat there silent, thinking about something.

Finally she said, "I am not a fan of dangerous stuff. And how do I know you're not a figment of my imagination?"

He couldn't believe what she was saying, so he asked her to repeat that. Maybe it was just her Russian accent? But she said the same.

"A figment of your imagination?" he repeated her words.

"More or less." She smiled.

He took her hand. "Do figments of your imagination do that to you?"

Her hand trembled in his, she looked scared, but suddenly hopeful.

"They do," she answered eventually, "but I've never been able to feel their touch until now." She took her hand away, stood up and looked into his eyes. "Who are you?"

He wished he'd have a name other than his own, or other than the one he used, but he couldn't just lie to her. "I'm the Doctor."

She looked puzzled, but then smiled. "Yeah, people sometimes are fond of giving weird names to their kids. I'm Daria, but if that sounds too hard to pronounce, you can call me Dasha."

She reached out her hand, and since he was sitting at the moment, it was easier to kiss it than to shake it. She laughed. "You are incredibly polite, are you?"

He didn't know what to think, but his face reacted in wide smile already, whereas the words came out thoughtlessly out of his mouth. "It's the best with the people you know nothing about."

She suddenly stopped smiling. After a minute of silence she said, "Two desires fight in me. The one is to be able to ask if you want to know more. The other is to go away from you. I want to trust you, Doctor, I really do, I've run out of people to trust, but it seems I just can't fight it. I rarely mean it when I say it in English, but I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

She hesitated for a moment and then whispered, "Goodbye, Doctor."

As she walked away, he stood in astonishment, almost numb. A human being who never questioned his behaviour, never cared to look at the TARDIS, who didn't treat his name as something out of the ordinary. What the hell is going on?

He was sure of one thing though - he was ready to continue fighting.


	2. Chapter 2

His father was shouting loudly at someone, "Do I really have to do that?"

This someone said something, and the shouting became even louder.

The boy got out of the bed and went to the window. Two suns shined brightly outside, pouring orange light everywhere they could reach. He saw kids playing, adults watching them or simply strolling in a morning walk. He could've been there too, but he couldn't think about anything but his eighth birthday, which was coming soon.

He wasn't scared of the time vortex. His father, however, was terrified, and didn't even try to hide that. He spent countless nights awake, thinking, drawing something, writing page after page, reading long books. Even though the boy couldn't have been sure about that, it seemed that his father was trying to find a way to avoid the visit to the time vortex, to the Untempered Schism.

"I am not scared of going there," he told his father as he had noticed him reading the book entitled "What does Time Vortex actually do?".

The father put the book away, hid his face in his hands and then looked at his son. "I know you're not scared, and you really shouldn't be."

"Why are you reading all these books then?" the boy asked, puzzled, as he glanced on the titles of the other books which were there: "The science behind Time Vortex", "Questions about Time Vortex (with Answers)", "Unlocking Time Vortex".

"I—" his father stumped. After a pause he finally said, "There is something I want to prevent."

"What is it?"

"I don't even know," his father replied fast. "You have heard that there were cases when kids lost their minds after looking into the vortex?" The boy nodded, and he continued, "I just want to know what usually happens, what can go wrong, but…"

"What?"

"Go to sleep."

The boy wanted to stay, to argue, but he suddenly realised that he had never seen his father so tired before.

On the next day he asked, "What has happened to you when you looked into the vortex?"

His father raised the right hand to his eyes and slowly stated, "I can't tell you. I wouldn't tell you even if I could. This is something you should find out entirely on your own."

"But what if that could help preventing that something. That thing that you don't want to happen. What if that would help?"

"Even if it would I can't risk here. And I don't want to talk about that anymore."

"But—"

"Have you heard me?"

Even though the boy wanted to continue talking about the upcoming visit to the vortex just to let his father know that he really wasn't scared, he backed off.

And as he looked from the window while his father was shouting at someone, "Why can't I know that, he's my son, after all!", he realised that something has changed.

Now he was scared. But he dreaded showing his fear to his father even more, so he decided to keep silent about his eighth birthday altogether.

His father entered the room, furious. "Pack your things, we're going to the Academy. Don't," he said, as he noticed a silent question on the boy's face, "don't ask anything, just pack some clothes and go, we don't have much time left."

"But I thought we always have more than enough time," blurted the boy.

His father stared at him for a moment which seemed to have lasted much longer than it actually did. "Not this time. Now hurry up."

The road to the Academy wasn't short, but the boy and the father weren't talking. One was just looking at the orange sky, the other buried his face in his hands. Once in a while the boy looked at his father in wonder. He had never seen him so exhausted, given that he had to raise him on his own. His father lived alone as long as the boy could remember. There were not many guests in their house, definitely no women among them, but his father has always seemed to be content with this. Or has he?

The boy suddenly thought about something he couldn't even explain. He could only ask, "Dad, have you ever been happy after Mom has died?"

The father lifted up his head immediately, eyes widened. "Sure I was. I am happy. Why do you even ask?"

His son shrugged. "You look too sad. And you really think too much about me going to the vortex."

"Every Time Lord thinks too much about their child going to the vortex."

The boy leapt to his father. "But I think you worry even more than Time Lords usually do. Remember our neighbours? I never noticed the parents with these weird books that you have."

His father held him tight, not answering anything. They spent the following part of the journey to the Academy in silence.

As they arrived to the ancient building, the father crouched and looked into his son's eyes. "They're going to perform a medical examination I asked for. They won't let me in, so I will have to go now, but I will pick you up and bring you to the vortex. Alright?"

"Why do I need a medical examination? The neighbours said it's not necessary."

"I think it's necessary," said a voice from behind the boy. The man in the golden coat went down a few steps and faced both newcomers. "Yeah, I take care of him. I think it's us who will take him to the Untempered Schism, though." The father tried to protest, but the man laid his hand to the boy's shoulder and whispered "You owe me enough already, my friend. You know very well why I have to do that and why can't you be there."

"He's my son—"

"And that's just one reason more to stay away. It's not worth the risk. And I promise you I will do everything to keep him safe. Do you hear me,—" he whispered the rest into the father's ear. The boy watched his father's face twist with bitter astonishment, as he took a few steps down from him.

"Why does he have to go?" he challenged the man in the golden coat

"I'm sorry, dear, this is too long a story to even begin to tell. Now go and say your goodbyes."

The boy wanted to come down, but his father ran up faster. He lifted his son high in the air, held him tightly and whispered something that he couldn't hear. As the boy stood firmly, he turned around and went away fast without looking back.

"What has he said?" the boy asked the man.

"You're the master of your own life." He reached out his hand and as the boy took it, he lead him into the Academy. "Maybe one day you will study here, like your father… did."

The boy was looking around in wonder. Nearly everyone was wearing long clothes like coats or cloaks. They were of different colours, and not much people wore golden clothing, like the boy's guide did.

They've arrived to a bright big room full of strange instruments. Some of them looked so ancient one was afraid to breath in their direction, some, on the other hand, were new, as if they've just been manufactured.

"We don't have much time, kid, and most of these things require you to sit completely still. I think it would be better if you just sleep as I examine you. Do you need help with that?"

The boy nodded, and the man laid his hand on the boy's forehead. He fell asleep almost that instant, and the man caught him before he would fell on the black floor.

The boy awoke in a small dark room to find the man watching him. He changed his golden coat to a simple black one. He said as he handed him clothes "You have to wear this when you approach the Untempered Schism."

"Is everything alright with me?" the boy demanded, remembering the countless nights his father had spent awake.

The man looked away for a moment and then turned his gaze right at the boy's face as he confessed, "I don't really know. But not a single instrument at the Academy's possession could pick up anything out of ordinary. That should be reassuring"— the strange smile twisted his lips— "but our knowledge is not infinite."

"I am afraid," murmured the boy, unable to stop thinking about his father.

"Really?" the man confronted him. "Your father told me quite the opposite, he said that you're the bravest kid he had ever met. Ah"— he chuckled— "which father wouldn't say that about his child. I know one thing, kiddo, and this is that you shouldn't be scared of something you can't prevent. You have to go and look into the time vortex, and it's better to face it with courage, as the drums beat in tact with your marching steps. Shall we go?"

The boy nodded.

"Then get dressed and follow me."

They probably didn't have much time yet again, but they were walking on the dark streets slowly and in silence. A few other men led their kids in the same way, and the boy was wondering if all the kids dressed like him were born in the same day that he was. He kept looking in different directions and once or twice he thought that he saw his father hiding behind the trees. But the closer to the destination he was, the less he thought about anything but the time vortex.

The Untempered Schism. The place that no one needed to guide from curious eyes. The place when every child had spent his eighth birthday. As the boy saw it from a far distance, one girl looked into the vortex and ran away, her screams pierced the night's silence.

"I can't go any further," said the man.

The boy glanced at him and let go of his hand. He thought that he saw his father in the trees behind the man, but seconds passed to reveal no one who'd be standing there.

He turned away and marched to the Untempered Schism, trying to think about the armies and great warriors in tales his father told him. Or was it his mother, whose face he couldn't remember even now?

He stopped in front of the vortex and moved his gaze from the ground into the hole.

First his mind went blank.

And then the drumming began.


	3. Chapter 3

I was walking home along partially emptied by the evening's time streets, holding a plastic bag in my left hand, while my usually full but not at that time purse hanged on my right shoulder. A few days ago my PE teacher has told me that I better watch that shoulder because of scoliosis. As usually I nodded and nodded, feeling almost guilty for my bad physical shape even though everything else that she has said was good. Maybe one day I won't even remember that warning, and will carry bags in my right hand or on my right shoulder without that nagging in the back of my head.

Anyway, even though I didn't have much to do, I was almost drained by the lack of sleep, bad mood and the spring itself. Usually spring gives people something new, something good or at least promising. My springs were making me miserable for some years and this one wasn't going to be an exception. The weather was great, the sun was going down, but it wasn't too dark yet. I would personally prefer darkness, but that's an idiot inside me talking. The last rays of the sun also were my protection, for the streets which I have to walk or cross weren't exactly the safest ones possible. They weren't the most dangerous too, but my paranoia never requires too much of danger, only a vision of it is enough to freak me out.

I have already felt something bad when I have seen some people, but the situation seemed to stabilize as I was passing by mostly people somewhat like me - tired and flat, at least on the outside. I always have to add the outside bit, because my outside has almost nothing in common with my brooding inside.

You see, I am a daydreamer. The worst kind there is. There are daydreamers who simply don't care. They either don't care about their dreams or about their lives. Quite comfortable, but not something I can relate to. I daydream and then feel guilty for wasting the time. Or I do some work, emptying all my reserves and then cursing myself for not getting a pause to just relax and dream. And since I am lazy the first scenario happens much more often.

I was actually walking because I wanted to walk my way home instead of taking a long way with the bus, which I also had to change halfway through. I read quite an engaging book, but suddenly I just knew I can't spend half an hour more in buses. I got out and went home, and I have already described you how it has begun.

One thing more about my daydreaming is that it is really rich for events. Maybe this haven't actually happened to me, maybe I was walking and imagining how it would be happening, and the vividity of the dream mixed up my tired and populous (with real and not real people and thoughts) memory in a way that I believed in the dream. Or, which is worse, not only has it actually happened to me, but I have dreamt about that before. Although it's never happened to me, I keep opening this door in my dreams all the time. I dream about a guy proposing to me, and I have a line there, when I say, "Do you know that I have dreamt about how this would happen?". More than that, sometimes I get carried away by that line and me and my imaginary companions would wind up discussing the phenomenon of daydreaming.

So, shortly speaking, I don't know if that has actually happened. But a guy whom I overtook some 50 meters ago just went to me and asked if I speak English. I was so fed up with the day, my misanthropy was on fire, so I answered "Yes" quite casually. But when I have heard him answering something, all these feelings were gone, though I remained sulk on the outside.

It's really amazing that I have managed to hear him saying, "I wasn't expecting to bump into someone who knows English, I thought your folk has problems with that."

I replied that I didn't have to follow the basic stereotypes and asked about the reason for him being here.

"Ah, I was told that I was born here," he confided, "so I have decided to go to look for my roots."

"Hmm, so have you decided to wander on the streets or do you know where are you going?" I asked casually, even though on the inside volcanoes were erupting with joy and fear and all the feelings which could've been at least a bit appropriate.

"Nah, I follow the spirit of adventure," he responded.

"Well, what are you going to do when I get home? It's not all that easy to drive from here."

"Yeah," he agreed, "especially if consider that I don't know Russian."

I smiled widely, this wasn't surprising at all. "Yeah, our language is somewhat hard to grasp for native English speakers. Or—" I paused— "isn't English your native language?"

For a moment before he has answered I felt so awkward I couldn't think about anything else. It was so easy talking to him, like he was a long-lost friend of mine who has suddenly come back to me. I was absolutely sure I haven't seen him before, and yet something was bringing my introversy and shyness down.

"English isn't my first language, but you can call it native, it's as good as that. But tell me, what it happening in this part of the city? Be my guide while I try to find my roots." He smirked, and that didn't make me shiver with fear.

I looked around, unsure about what to answer. And produced, "Well, I don't walk here often, but it seems there is a lot of things for cars. And—" I pointed at a building— "a company that deals with electricity."

He saw the letters MPCK and voiced them as an English speaker would do, and I giggled. "What?" he asked, puzzled.

"It's obvious you don't know Russian. Do you know that our alphabets are different and that you should read it more like MRSK?" I spoke cheerfully.

"Ah, damn. This is so strange. Shame on me, how could I forget?"

He seemed genuinely upset, and I said in a hurry, "Don't worry, there was a time when English was just like that for me too."

"Yeah, but is English your heritage language?" I shook my head, and he continued, bitterly, "I don't actually hope to find anyone, I have come here too late."

I looked at him somewhat examining and couldn't hold my tongue, "You don't look old enough to be late anywhere."

"Looks don't matter," he replied.

"They do," I debated, "because a lot of people don't care looking close enough."

He glimpsed and after a pause expressed, "It's nice to speak with someone smart. This universe is full with stupid creatures."

"You don't know for sure that I am smart, I haven't given you any hints on that," I blurted bitterly, following my usual self-criticism.

"Well, as you said, looks do matter. Also you know English, —"

"But I could've been born in a different country or have lived there," I interrupted him.

"Well, were you born here? Have you ever been to an English-speaking country?"

Yes to first, no to second, and he smiled. "So why all this charade? You are smart and this is a great thing about you, don't you ever underestimate it."

I wasn't exactly reassured, but I nodded.

"Say," he added, "that I am an alien. Would you believe that?"

Okay, I thought to myself, this is going places. What if this is a test of sorts? "You don't look particularly alien to me," I responded.

"Ah, I am not saying that I am an alien, but just imagine it. Would you believe it?"

One of my traits I cherish the best is honesty, and obeying to my inner voice I replied, "No, probably not."

He grinned and continued, "So I could try to read your mind or to travel in time with you and you still wouldn't have believed me?"

Now I was afraid. Psychos and freaks sound delightfully interesting in books, look attractive in movies, but in real life they're primarily scary.

"I wouldn't want to let you do any of that," I claimed finally.

"Why?" He seemed to be genuinely surprised by my answer.

"Well, there's not much good in my mind that I would want to share. And time-travelling is tempting to make all sorts of stupid and impossible things."

"Such as?" he questioned.

"Nah… that constant desire to fix the mistakes of the past, you know...:"

How should he know, I thought. But he looked so gloomy and, perhaps, he did know.

We walked in silence, but when I was able to see my house and precisely at the moment when I wanted to say my goodbyes he said, "Let's pretend I am an alien and I can read minds. Let me try to pull something really good about you. Who knows, maybe I will guess just right?"

"No," I refused. "Look, this is my home over there and I am tired, so—"

"I implore you," he said simply, not wasting energy on long persuading. I stared at him, trying to find the source of danger or some other disturbing things, but he simply stood there. Well, what bad can it do to me? He can't be an alien, he doesn't seem to have weaponry.

So, eventually, I nodded. He placed his hands around my head and suddenly I couldn't think. Streams of consciousness were passing through me, faces I have never seen, events I have never participated in, languages I have never heard…

"You have such vivid imagination," he said, and this has stopped. "I know what you want, and you will get what you want, I promise you that. Just never let your dreams go."

"And what do I want?" I retorted.

"A guide. And he will come. One day you will find him, or he will find you, just hold on to your imagination." He looked deeply in my eyes, and I, who usually avoided eye contact, stared unblinking in his eyes, feeling again that I known him for ages. "Why are you so shocked?" he grinned all of a sudden, "have I guessed right?"

I just kept staring at him. My mind was revolting, it was at war with itself, and I couldn't say a word.

"Well, I have to go now. Thank you for helping me around here."

He turned and went away, so I screamed, "Wait!" Lots of questions were on my mind, but as I have seen his face again I knew that I shouldn't ask him anything.

"I don't know what is it that you want, but I wish you luck with that."

He was serious again, and he nodded as if the words I said mattered a lot to him.

As he walked away and disappeared into the horizon, I tried to come back to reality, and I couldn't. I warned you, I don't know whether this was a dream or not, but I had to relax and lay in my bed for hours to shake off ethereality.

Years have passed since that day and I have never saw him or dreamt of him again. I keep coming back to this in my mind, but nothing new adds up. I don't even want to think why is it so fixed. It makes this more real, and how I wish it to have actually happened to me! But, well, again, maybe it did. Maybe not. In the end of the day I get to decide, and I think it was and is real.

And nothing else matters.


End file.
